There is no evidence here.
There is no proof of that broken-tooth smile
Of those happy and sun gleaned faces.

No flash highlighted the essence of hard work
And shadowed the bitter tears and blood
Not a ghost, for that would suggest that that, which was is now dead
And that which is never lived
Can never die

Those close embraces of rocket energy never caressed
Those makeuped eyes never rippled
Those Cartier smiles never posed for this Oaken frame.

It was never hung
Proud and loved
A mock to the “drawings” on the fridge door.

The dog never ruined the first three attempts
And was never included in the final just because he was so ****
Cute.

A talent, some would say
To fabricate. To create from none.
A talent indeed to lose
After creation never capture the attention of the camera.